The Saboteur
by peace and joyce
Summary: Leah Wishart faces unbelievable odds in the 12th Hunger Games. In the second of the trilogy, she must defend herself against an arena, a fearsome career pack, and someone who wants her dead...
1. Heartbreak at the Cornucopia

There it was. The Cornucopia. Larger than life; in all its 75 years of use, it never once changed. Always the same colour, always the same size, always the same shape.

But I weren't much interested in the Cornucopia, much less than the stuff spilling out from it. It was a large haul this year. No night vision goggles though. In my day, they hadn't been invented. I would later become very grateful for this. There were swinging knives (that I knew Varnish couldn't wait to get her mitts on) maces (that I sure didn't want to see in action) and swords as long as my legs and boy did I have long legs!

I followed the Careers' eyeline as they sized up their arsenal. Sure enough, they was lookin' at them weapons like a little kid looks at a sweetshop.

But their greed and their bloodlust gave me an idea. I was pretty dang certain that, like every year, it would be same old same old. Every group of Careers, every year, they do the same thing, follow the same pattern. They run like hell to their weapon of choice, certain that their back and sides are covered by their allies, and then work their way out through the rings of supplies, picking off tributes as they go. It's a simple strategy, but it sure is efficient.

While they're off fighting for tents and whatever the Capitol dangle in front of their noses, there is a two minute (at least) window in which the outer supplies are ignored. Well, maybe not completely ignored. One or two might make for 'em, but if they ain't Careers I'm more than happy. It might not get me much- individually; the supplies are rubbish but better than nothing. But if I get more than one set of them supplies- that's even better than nothing.

And Georg? He has allies, not very good ones but with a bit of luck they'll pull through. They might even get good stuff. I'll find a way to reunite with Georg later on, maybe three of four days into the Games, when trust is scarce and there are less tributes to hide behind.

I don't have much time. The golden stopwatch is getting down to the last ten seconds. I remember Calpurnia's words "always have a plan." I have a plan now, so I should be off to a good start.

And then the gong sounds. Tributes that were stock still are racing- towards the Cornucopia. I wait for a half-second, to avoid being caught up in the first wave of murderous tributes before runnin' as fast as I can to the side. I'm not much of a runner, I'm pretty slow actually- but I'm runnin' in completely the different direction.

At first- all good. I got three loaves of bread, two blanket rolls and one sheet of plastic: you never know when a sheet of plastic could come in handy!

I was in perfect position, I could see everybody, supplies were in arms reach and at the first sign of danger I could take off.

I was just grabbing at my fourth loaf, when a terrible thought came into my head. With my arms laden, I was a sitting duck. At the moment, everybody else was quite happy killing each other, nobody taking notice of little ol' me. But the tide could turn at any second, and I needed to have a plan B.

Lying sadly, on its own, was a limp blue sponge bag with drawstrings.

Now, in the Hunger Games, there are two kinds of bags. There are huge backpacks, with ergonomic (whatever that is) foam-padded shoulders. These giant monsters can hold anything, hell they can even block a knife. Then there are puny bags. The strings dig in, wouldn't block a butter knife and can hold b****r all. Guess which one I went for. The puny one.

No sooner had I touched the stupid thing, but I heard an awful thing. I heard a scream. My head whipped around.

I know that scream.

Georg. Spread-eagled on the grass, Sparkle's foot on his chest; and Sparkle's spear inches from his pert bow mouth. He was sickly pale. And I soon find out why. Sparkle's sword had already taken off one of his hands.

There was nothing I could do. Please don't forget that- there was nothing I could really do.

I took a step forward, but I may as well have thrown a loaf of bread at him. It was hopeless.

Sparkle's foot pressed harder, and my heart tensed with it.

"Got any last words of your sister, punk?" growled Sparkle.

"Run, Leah RU-"

The last words were cut off by a sickening thud, as Sparkle's spear tore through Georg's mouth. His sweet eyes were still open, a little bit of blood dripping out of his mouth. Sparkle ripped his spear out and advanced on the girl from 11.

Of Georg's warning, I didn't need telling twice. Euler looked up from hacking to pieces the weakling girl from 12. I turned and ran. My own brother had been murdered right in front of me; and now I could only run like a coward.

Euler gave up chasing me after I'd reached the beginning of some woods, preferring to stake his claim in more supplies.

I ran, not caring about anything else, I ran flat out until I found a bush where I could take a break for ten minutes. There was enough foliage to hide me from view, but a quick scan through the leaves told me nothing bad was lurkin' there too.

I stuffed all my bread and blankets into my bag. Funnily enough, despite full out runnin', I hadn't lost nothing. I peered through the drawstrings to see what else was in the bag.

A cigarette lighter. No kidding. A small metal pot and water disinfectant. That was it. But, for a pathetic little sponge bag, not half bad. I might even survive a week.

With no more runnin' my heart stopped thumpin' and started breakin'.

Georg. My own brother. Why was I so stupid? So blind? There can only be one victor; and I should have protected him, should have warned him.

"That'll take the wind out of her sails." That's what they said. Why did I ever underestimate Sparkle? Sure, his name may be stupid, but he sure ain't. He's a Career, for goodness sake. Sometimes people forget that though 2 tributes are tough, 1 are just as bad.

But why would they purposefully kill Georg? Most Careers just blindly kill from day one. Why seek out Georg? If they didn't notice him, then he might have made it.

If I'd died, maybe they wouldn't have killed him.

Maybe it's my fault.

No sooner had I thought this, they started firing them cannons.

One, two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven.

Seven tributes dead. That's not enough. Last year, 13 went in half an hour; and the worst Games was when only four died on the first day.

Sure, three died before anything had actually happened, but that means that I have fourteen tributes to face, and until nightfall I don't know who they are.

I looked around me. I was in a funny kind of forest. The trees were very thin, with little branches. But there were soft underfoot, with lots of brown leaves. I could see a swamp in the distance, and maybe a lake of some kind. I'd have to get around to fetching water, and finding ground wet enough to have plenty of worms. Worms is bland, apparently, so maybe there'd be somethin' to make 'em taste better. I weren't never a good cook.

Given I'd stuffed myself at breakfast; I didn't feel like no food. I found enough leaves and sticks enough to make a lean-to behind a bush in a bend, so that my hiding place was doing what it said.

I huddled under my cover, and thanked my lucky stars I'd got blankets.

But when the anthem began to play, loud and clear, I got out of the lean-to to watch the skies. N

I don't wanna watch my opponents fall, cowering behind some makeshift camouflage. I'm gonna stand to pay 'em respect as they have their final fifteen seconds of fame, shimmerin' up in the night sky.


	2. Mud and Blood

There he is. Shining bright, if slightly fuzzily (Capitol graphics weren't too good in them days) in the night sky. My brother; my best friend. His death; my failure.

I sure got a shock when I saw him up there. I'd seen him die, knew that his was one of the seven cannon shots. But they always put the faces up in the sky in District order. And he was first.

One of the few (very few) things that are good about the Hunger Games are the slideshows of the faces of the dead. Just showing numbers means nothing, and drains all humanity from the Hunger Games. At least show them as people.

His face. It's stayed with me all these years. Soft curls, mischievous smile, freckles, sparkly eyes. He was never the strongest or cleverest of the boys at our little school in 9, but he was the most genuine and he was my brother. My mother was capricious and ambitious, fickle and frivolous. His was grounded and content. But we had the same father; and we was as thick as thieves. He shared my childhood; an hour was never truly wasted if it was wasted with Georg. We'd always been a close-knit family, but Georg was the one who made things come alive. I looked out for him in the past- I never saved his life, but I'd shout at the kids who bullied Georg, or pull out his splinters without making him cry. I never thought of it at the time, but maybe the warning cry- saving my life, was his way of saying thank you.

I couldn't tear myself away from the slideshow. I forced myself to watch the price I've paid, see those who'd died in this nightmarish day.

Georg was followed shortly by his ally, the girl from 10. Then her district partner, the wan faces of 11 and the starved weaklings of 12. Look, there's Fidgety from 12.

And those are the only ones. An almost full and venomous Career pack, the tributes from 7 that got 9 in training- they're all still out there.

But they can go stuff themselves. Because I want to go home, and I want to face my mum and dad- alive, and tell them, in the eye, that I got Georg killed. I owe it to them to be at fault here. So like it or not, I'm going to use every ounce of the Wishart initiative and luck to get through this, to get back alive.

With a loud flourish, the anthem is gone and the sky is dark and I feel scared with all this. Not being able to see nothing.

On getting back to my lean-to, I find out something pretty handy about my plastic sheet. If I twist it a certain way, it slots together to form a square shelter. Not bad.

Feeling slightly better about my supplies, I crawl under the new and improved plastic sheet, huddle up and pray to sleep without nightmares.

It was early when I woke up. No dreams, or nightmares, just an empty sleep. I'll have to go on, as if my heart ain't broke, and my brother ain't dead.

I heard a strange sound. Not aggressive, but strange. It weren't nobody screaming, or dying. It was snoring.

Grabbing a rock (just for something' to hold- ain't all that much use as a weapon) I had a look as to who it might be.

The girl from 6, her hair askew, her face a dirty grey, is gently snoring from under the shade of a sparse pine tree. Barely older than Georg; she is unrecognisable from the vivacious thing I met in training. There are little tear tracks on her dry cheeks. Guess I'm not the only one missing Georg.

She must be completely exhausted, drowned out from all yesterday's trauma. She can't even hear me come up real close, or touch her pale face.

I'm stuck with what to do. She can't live if I want to win the Games- but could I really kill Georg's ex-ally? But then, however I kill her is surely going be better than Varnish pirouetting around her and scissoring her into little bits. Or Berenice smashing, Or Euler, strangling her while she struggles hopelessly. Or a revival of the way Georg died, courtesy of Mister Showman Sparkle.

And I'd get her supplies.

Why am I even thinking like that? I'm making a moral decision here, and then I get distracted by stupid things like if I get her supplies? The Games must be getting to me already.

I sneak over to my lean to, and take the plastic sheet. Carefully, I clamber around the sleepin' girl, and, never taking my eyes off that mournful face, I hold the sheet over her nose and mouth, and push it so I can't feel breath getting out. I keep it there, until the cannon fires.

I killed a person.

Never mind, I need her stuff.

I killed a person.

The hovercraft's going to be here in a minute.

I killed a person.

Without really thinking about it, I lean over her still face, and poke her mouth up into a little smile.

"Cheer up, chickie," I said, just as my mama used to do when I was little. "Y'all go home now."

I can hear the hovercraft, so I gather up her stuff without even looking at it and head off. The better decision, 'cause I can hear rustling. Only one alliance makes the kind of noise. Careers.

I didn't move fast enough. With no bushes, I discreetly sneak behind a tree just as Berenice arrives on the scene, Varnish and Sparkle keeping pace behind. I stay very still. I guess them Capitol folks will be on the edge of their seats. The hunt is afoot.

But I can hear Berenice getting closer; and however this ends, I'm gonna make the first move.

I run, swiftly and with eyes and ears open. I can hear the whir of an axe. I dart behind another tree. It thuds next to me, blade deep in the wood at the bottom of the tree. I try to pull it out, but it's embedded. It'd take hours to shift; and I don't have hours. I yank my hand back as a second thuds in reply. I take to the winds and flee, can't think, can't breathe, they're getting closer, heart pumping, ears ringing, keep running.

If I can't think straight, I sure ain't running straight. I dart from side to side, axes, knives, arrows flying everywhere. I can't stay in one path too long- the moment I move something sharp flies where I was inches before.

When a swinging knife whizzes past my ear when I spin to the side, I'm surprised. They must be running out of things to throw.

Water. Quite unpleasant water, splashing up my kneecaps. I've reached the marshes, where thick reeds could conceal all kinds of muttations. You may be thinking: what the hell is this girl doing? She can't run that fast, not enough to outpace Careers. But it weren't as far as I thought, I had a head start: and panic just did something. That was the time of the Hunger Games when I had the most fear, and though the Careers continued to be a threat, I never felt fear quite so much as I did then.

I was about halfway across the marshes, and they was a wide expanse of wilderness, those marshes. I heard the sound of the weapon that I was afraid of the most, even more than the maces or axes. A spear; Sparkle's specialty.

I dived down onto my front, hands sliding through wet ground and it hit down beside me. I stayed very still, didn't try to take the spear or even run any more.

It was a sunny day, and I'd been running away towards the sun. None of the Careers had actually seen what had happened, so I decided to milk the mystery for all that it was worth.

"Where'd she go?"

"I don't know. Did we hit her?"

"We'd have heard a cannon."

"But she's not running. She fell down, maybe the spear hit her. Otherwise she'd have grabbed it, and be up and running."

"Should we try and find her?"

"Why? I didn't see where she was. Could be anywhere. And she'd only slither out of our grasp _again_. Girl's as slippery as a barrel full of eels. "

"For goodness' sake!" That was Varnish. "The stupid bint got a 3! A _3_! And we're really going to let her get away with it? I've already wasted one of my swinging knives on her! What would _he_ say? What would sponsors say?"

The fear in Varnish's voice made me realise that in this Hunger Games, getting sponsors can be hard- even for Careers like Varnish.

"Look, 1" Berenice piped up now, "You've already wasted a knife, don't bother wasting another. Don't worry about what _he_ will say; it's only the second day_. He'll_ have his way, in the end" there was a short intake of breath, as though she was about to say something she shouldn't- "_he_ always does."

"Well I hope the horrid girl hurries up and dies, because we get no sponsors until _he _says we can." Varnish was bitterly disappointed, but decided to fight that battle another day.

I only had a moment to savour the victory of defying the Careers, because I needed to get moving. I shuffled forwards on my hands and knees, trying not to disturb the reeds, when my left knee hit something truly awful.

It was a human hand.

She wasn't dead, the girl from 7, who lay sprawled on her back, breathing shallowly, but she made no recognition that I had just crushed her hand. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin grey. A dark bite was on her right elbow, so deep it had cut through the bone. I wasn't almost sick as a gooey venom seeped out of the two holes, and the girl gave no sign of acknowledgement of me or the bite, but her jaw sagged and she blinked.

I froze, as a long slippery mutation eel slithered out of the reeds and across the body of 7. It flapped its fleshy sides, and she shuddered. The eel gave a leering smile, and bit her on the hip, so hard I could hear the venom dissolving her flesh. She choked and retched; and the cannon confirmed what I knew was inevitable.

It turned to me now, and slid right over my hand. I kept stock still, not daring to breathe as it slowly glided over my fingers, almost shaking, and settled off past me.

But my morning of terror was not over yet. With the Hunger Games, ain't never is. More people were coming, perhaps looking for the girl from 7. Even the Gamemakers were putting off taking away a dead girl's corpse, just to get extra footage of me tackling more threats.

Another alliance, another band of tributes working together. Another outnumbering, four to one. The boy from 3, the boy from 7 and the two from 8, Mr Cotton Reel and Miss Sourface. I kept still, while the boy from 7 got closer and closer. I couldn't run, and even that would only aggravate the eels, that were provoked on movement. But that gave me an idea. I didn't want another kill, but I needed a diversion.

Swallowing down bile, I picked up the hideous creature, the same eel that had killed the girl right in front of me. It writhed, and I held it by the tips of my fingers. And then it threw it; right at the chest of the boy from 7.

It was a truly terrible thing that happened next. He boy screamed as the eel tried to eat its way inside his own body. I couldn't watch as the eel snapped and tore at his chest, venom and blood everywhere.

Moved by what he saw, the kind-faced boy from 3 ventured forward and attempted to wrench the eel from what was left of 7's chest. His attempt to keep some humanity in the Games was rewarded by a bite on the wrist. Sobbing with the pain, he collapsed onto his knees beside the boy from 7, who was writhing on the ground. The boys begged for relief from the pair from 8, but they had turned their coats and fled, the eels jumping up behind and almost snapping at their heels.

I was the only one left now, in this wilderness of death. A cannon fired for the boy from 7. On his knees, the boy from 3 looked up at me as I slowly stood. He had beautiful eyes, 3, beautiful clear blue eyes.

And then he died.

I walked slowly back as the hovercraft collected three more bodies, three more to appease the Capitol's never-ending bloodlust. Georg, the girls from 6, 7&10, their partners and now the third boy too. No more will those parents look at those beautiful glassy eyes. Capitol glass is pretty fine, but there is nothing more breathtaking than a human eye, that two doting parents will never see twinkling again.

The rest of the day was suitably uneventful. I set up camp somewhere well suited to my needs, and set to work. I dried my trousers, socks and shoes, wrapping my legs in a blanket to keep them warm. I dug into the bag of girl 6, which was even punier than mine. A small pack of crackers, a towel, a pot of fat. Really? REALLY?

She could have been me. The girl from 6, she could have been me. I could have chosen that bag, ended up shining one last time in the night sky. But it was choice- no, not even choice. It was chance. I smother my foot in the fat. It feels odd, the slippery grease, but the fat proved to be very warming after a while. I packed away her things, and decided to test out my worm dishes, see if the time spent in training was worth it.

I boiled some water, surrounding my fire with rocks in case I needed a pathetic weapon to throw at people if I was jumped on unawares. I pounded the earth with a stone, until I was able to peel away reluctant worms.

I threw them into the boiling water and waited for them to cook, while I collected some mint leaves that I found growing. I kept well away from mushrooms, and anything that made my skin feel funny.

"Worms is full of protein" I said to myself, as I put out the fire and hid the smoking embers. I was pleased to have remembered a full set phrase, though I didn't have no idea about what protein actually was. Whatever it was, I hoped it would save me, vanquish the Careers.

Like the book said, the worms were bland, but the mint and bread made it much nicer. I prayed none of the bits would get stuck in my teeth, I didn't fancy fishing bits of worm from between my teeth.

Again, I watched the slideshow of the dead. So, this was what it was to be a Career, and to watch that passage of pictures and know that you were responsible for at least half. I had been the cause of three of those four cannon shots, and I'd witnessed the fourth. A thought struck me.

Ten tributes.

Two days of Games, ten left. Varnish, Sparkle, Euler and Berenice, the girl from 3, the boy from 4, the boy from 6, Mr Cotton Reel and Miss Sourface- and me. I hoped that the Capitol, for now, would be satisfied. I would die, if only to get some peace. But I promised that I would do my best to get back home and confess my guilt and my failure, so for now I wasn't going nowhere.

Even with my exhaustion, it took my hours to get even a little bit sleepy. After the horrific events of that day, how could anything different be expected?

I curled up in a ball, half-singing, half-sobbing a 9 lullaby to myself, before I dreamed a dreamless dream.


	3. And On the Third Day

The dreamless dream became a nightmare real quick. When I woke up on the next day, Day 3, hearing a tribute's snores paled in comparison to the awful sound the next morning. The birds weren't singing, the forest was quiet and the moment a rabbit came near me, it burrowed furiously away and I could almost taste the tension in the woods.

One minute they weren't there.

And then I couldn't forget them. The mutts.

Huge brown bears, ferociously strong. One bat of a gigantic paw sent huge lumps of ground flying everywhere. I had six on my tail, and they was close. Dangerously close.

I could feel them coming up behind me. I turned and stared them full in the face. I would never die running. I would die facing my fear, staring it in the face.

But that didn't happen. I didn't die. I turned around, but there was no recognition whatsoever from the mutts. And then I saw something that took my breath away.

They had no eyes. Not a peep, but boy did they have noses! Huge ones, with flaring nostrils, that took up most of their face.

The mutts raced past me so fast and so close that I feel the whistle of the wind, my coat turns up at the rush past.

Maybe they weren't chasing me after all.

I was confused, a dangerous thing to be in the Hunger Games, so I decided to head on up a tree. I clung like a monkey, or a scalded cat, as I fled up the trunk of the nearest. I was about four or five metres up when I froze in my tracks. One word stuck in my mind.

Scentless.

The soap I had chosen to wash with, days ago. Just a second's thought, had saved my life. Now that sure was something scary. Those mutts were blind mutts, something I had never seen in over ten years of Games. And if they couldn't see, some other sense must be guiding them. Judging by their giant noses, I'm willing to bet it's smell.

I gasp at the betrayal, at the Gamemakers' own double-crossing. The stylists covered us in perfume from the word go, and three days into the arena no amount of rolling around in marshes, or drenched in mud grime and pine needles is going to disguise it.

It was then that I discovered how fickle the Gamemakers could be. We thought the danger began in the arena, even if three tributes had kicked the bucket before the Games even started. What idiots we had all been, to think that we could see all the danger, and that the Careers were the most dangerous thing. Well kid, smell the coffee beans because they're not. At the end of the day, the Careers are kids getting over-excited by toys. The Gamemakers have years of experience, nothing will change each year's pool of tributes we're not anything special or new. Next year they won't even remember our names. And besides, the girl from 4 (I later discovered her name was Arbella) was a Career, but that didn't stop them hanging her.

From where I was, it looked like I would be in that tree a while. I caught a glimpse of a fleeing tribute once- Mr Cotton Reel and Miss Sourface (from 8) streaked past without noticing me. No sign of the Careers, but yelps in the distance told me that they weren't going down without a fight. Careers never do.

Then the boy from 6 crashed through the undergrowth, pale-faced with terror, whimpering with fear, so giddy from endless running that he crashed into the base of my tree with a grunt and a thud. His fear cost him. The chasing mutts caught up with him, grunting and holding his head, rocking with the pain.

I couldn't watch what happened next. But I had to. That could have been me. One small decision, before the Hunger Games, had dramatically altered my chances of survival.

The stylists, especially the one who designed things for the boy from 6, now being ripped apart in front of my very eyes. They would feel awful that their attempt to attract sponsors using perfume to make the tribute appear more "civilised" to the Capitol citizens would backfire. I felt sick, that somebody genuinely trying to help their tribute gets rewarded by this: the Gamemakers aren't going to lose any sleep, are they?

The cannon fired when there was nothing left. No hovercraft, to pick up the scattered entrails. Only the various remains of a human being were left to rot.

More mutts joined the throng, these were more unstable, possibly created in a hurry. They barged through the woods, knocking trees over when five crashed into the same tree. More were chasing the girl from 3, her face shining and pinkish. She left up and over the fallen trunks, hurdling over sprawling mutts. She didn't see me, so deeply she was focussing on leaping, running, hurdling with a methodic rhythm, taking one obstacle after another. She tripped over a bough, and I winced for her, 'cause she had my attention and probably the nation's as well.

She seemed to be expecting it thought, 'cause she rolled forward and then- just as a mutt leaped for her, jaws open,- she flung herself at my tree and started to pull herself up.

The other mutts gathered around the base of the tree. They could leap high, snapping their jaws with a clack at her heels. Her hands were shiny too, and her grip faltered.

With a scream, she skidded down, her feet just inches from the leaping jaws of the mutts. She flung her pale blonde plait out of her face, and looked up at me with imploring eyes, pleading eyes.

I couldn't. Not with her clinging to life while death and a pit of agony waited below. I couldn't see her- the girl who had winked at me in the parade, in a shimmering dress of little cogs, the girl who had smiled at me when others scowled. The girl who liked my dress, and said so. The only person with a similar training score to me.

I couldn't. And I didn't. Her watery blue eyes widened in fear, and just yesterday her district partner had looked at me, straight with those beautiful glassy eyes.

I wouldn't let that happen again.

"Oh, fine then!" I said, cross for some reason that even I couldn't even explain.

I stuck out my hand and she snatched it like a lifebelt. Leaning back against the trunk, legs straddling the branch and clinging to it, I pulled her up, her feet doing the rest. She nipped in beside me on the branch and straightened her pack.

"Thanks," was all she could say.

The mutts abandoned the chase and hunted off after the only people left: the Careers and 8.

"Been quite a morning, hasn't it?" I said.

The girl laughed breathlessly. She smoothed her hair and took out some leaves.

"I'm Mall," she said, as the howls of the mutts grew more distant.

"Leah."

We talked for hours, and didn't once mention the Hunger Games, or the entrails festering at the bottom of the tree. Come to think of it, I'm surprised that we never actually became allies. We kept to our own food and water and though we shared secrets like girls at a sleep-over do, we didn't ever say anything about teaming up. Bit stupid of me really, we had a lot in common and whatever her low training score (higher than me though- the lowest of the lot) she was nimble and agile.

Maybe we liked each other too much to be allies. 'Cause at the end of the day, there is only one victor. And perhaps we were just pretending that we were two friends talking in a tree. That it would be an ordinary day. I would go back to Harryo and Dad and Aunt Emmeline in 9- maybe even Georg, because the Hunger Games do not exist. She'd go back to her life in 3, and we met under different circumstances, not to kill each other.

But then- I could have killed her, let her fall, and perhaps even pushed her. I done worse- I had smothered a girl in her sleep, thrown eels at people, watched silent as human beings were ripped apart in front of me, maybe partly because of me. And I went on to do worse. But I didn't let her die. And when the dreams come, of that frightening time in the Games, its only little relief to see Mall from 3.

It was nightfall when the mutts were gone for good, when Mall at last slipped down from the tree and into the shadows. The cannon, for 6, was fired, signalling the retreat of the mutts. We must have been made of strong stuff, if those deadly mutts had taken just one. But by that time, only 9 were left: The five Careers, the two from 8, Mall and me.

And we were the 9 most determined to survive.


	4. Gas!

Nobody died on Day 4, so far as days in the arena go, I just put it to the back of my mind and moved on pretty quick. Can't stay nowhere for too long in the Hunger Games, in any shape or form, otherwise you get to be just a little too still.

But in the afternoon, there was a strange hissing sound all over the arena, like a balloon being let out slowly. It didn't hurt nobody, and nobody died, but I wasn't too sure, so I covered my mouth and nose in a damp hankie and went about my business as usual. 'Cause that's how a Wishart works. No fuss, just get on with it. One of the men who worked for Aunt Emmeline on her grain fields lost a leg in a combine harvester. It happened on a Friday, and he was back to work on Monday, same as usual.

But in the morning, I discovered the source of the hissing. A slate grey can, completely empty but bent double from the pressure, with the words

AGGRESSION GAS

On the front. I wasn't sure at first; but then I understood. Them Gamemakers ain't too happy about the deaths lately. Sure, we're dropping like flies down here- it wasn't until the 4th Day that people actually stopped dying for a moment, but they're obviously not exciting enough. They must need more deaths from fighting and Careers showing off their weapons than going naturally. Perhaps the sight of the boys from 3 &7 being eaten alive by venomous eels, and the suspense of me hiding from the Careers, only to fight and kill again. There may only be nine of us left, and five of them Careers, but we need to get a move on.

My granddaddy faced aggression gas, when he was a rebel. The Capitol used it to inspire betrayal, try and get the rebels so obsessed with violence that they would crumble. It took months for anybody to realise just what was causing all the extra vitriol, but it was the gas that was the cause.

I feel a shiver down my spine. The effects of the gas are stronger or weaker according to personality, and with the Careers, it could make them or break them. And I guess that it falls to one of us to tip the balance.

Keeping my mouth covered, to avoid breathing in any more gas (which is giving me a headache) I take my breakfast and go. I wash out the can, but then on a whim, put it back into my bag.

The sound of a scuffle sent me up a tree and I stayed there, completely stock still.

There were screams, shouts. The red hair gave it away; it was the two from 8. One minute, they was happy as you can really be in the Hunger Game without winning, but from what I could see, they was ambushed by Careers. I saw the glint in Varnish's eyes, a manic fanaticism that glimmered like the light on her curved swinging knives. It frightened me.

Sure, the Careers terrify the life out of everything they meet, it's par for the course- but this gas affects them more strongly than I could ever have thought.

The girl was frozen with fear, but her district partner kept his wits.

"Ribbon, drop the stuff and _get out of here!_"

"I can't leave you!"

"Just go! GO!"

And before she can protest, Euler's axe buries itself in his head. By her gulping sobs, and the cannon that follows, he's dead.

"Aron... _Aron..."_ she whispers, so that only I can hear. And I stand by and watch, as I always have done, when I should have stopped it. How can somebody do that? Know it's going on, but watch it like it don't matter?

They turn on her next, but she's too fast even for them. Varnish wastes a knife on her, which flies into the dry brush bush and she replies with an arrow to Euler's shoulder. She's an average shot, grazing his shoulder quite badly. By the time they've noticed, she's vanished, without trace- or supplies.

Grumbling bitterly at another tribute slipping away, another kill yet lost to them, they settle down to a sumptuous dinner of roast pork and (which sure winds me up!) bread and butter pudding, 'cause Georg always made _the _best bread and butter pudding. We had a cake sale at school to raise enough money to actually pay the teachers (the Capitol didn't see why we needed educating if only to die at the next Hunger Games) and we Wishart kids got together and made a bread and butter pudding that was as big as me. The teachers weren't too happy about this- it was a cake sale after all, but they sure shut up when we sold out while the dish was still warm.

All the memories that the spongy pudding and sweet currants brings up makes me sad; and I think of Ribbon, the girl from 8, and maybe I didn't judge her or her boy- Aron- fairly. She may have been a sour faced person, but she did care about him. Though no decent person's gonna win the Hunger Games. And he may have dressed as a cotton reel, (not lookin' too pleased about it) he did die telling her to get her act together.

Bit like Georg really. Though I hope I don't have a sour face.

I sat up straight in my tree (sounds weird, I know) when at last the Careers settle down to sleep. The gas has made them paranoid, suspicious of what the others gonna be thinking. The Career Alliance is the strongest of the arena, but now they're so suspicious they won't even have a night guard. Maybe they think the greatest threat in the arena is tributes in the same alliance. But killing at night is anonymous.

Or at least I think that's the word.

And an alliance, that's sleeping, untrustworthy and likely to get stressy at the slightest thing, is in danger indeed.

They've laid the kindling for me (with a little help from them Gamemakers). All I need to do is give it a spark.


	5. Bloodbath

I took my chance. I had to act fast, who knew who long they'd be asleep? I sure didn't want to be there when they woke up. I was here to lay a trap, not blunder through it and be caught in the end of it all. Considering three people had never even been in the arena, they was greedy Careers and their supply was running low. I didn't think I could remember the Careers ever running out of food, in any way in previous Hunger Games. But then, not a sight or sound of a fluttering parachute had ever been heard this side of the woods. I should have been grateful for that. But I wasn't. I was suspicious.

I started to pick up food, lots of it, and stuff it in my bag. It was puny, but for a puny bag it had a lot of room. Come to think about it, I only took 'bout half the food. The rest went around the mouth of the boy from 4.

Why? I don't know. I didn't know him, or even ever talk to him. It was luck. Pure, darned luck as Aunt Emmeline would say. And what would Aunt Emmeline say? She'd be watching me; everybody in Panem except for the sleeping Careers, Mall and Ribbon would know my trickery.

It started off being a few subtle bread crumbs, but then I realised that if there is one thing that the Careers are not, it's subtle. So I smeared a sort of meat sauce around his mouth, from his chin to his nose and from ear to ear. Then I left empty cans, empty bottles around him, I tucked a sword behind his ear, as if he had fallen asleep surrounded by his "guilt" and holding onto a weapon, just in case.

Hating myself for what the Games had reduced me to, I retreated up a tree, praying that the sounds of clanking bottles and inadept feet scraping on loose bark would not be heard. But the gas had stupefied them somehow, and it wasn't until about midday that anybody felt like waking up.

Awfully, the boy from 4 was the first. His face racks me with the guilt of his "guilt". It was a look of innocence- because he was innocent; confusion and then a dawning horror that he had been tricked.

I thought I was honest, a decent person. Sure, I accept to not being the sharpest blade in the combine harvester but I always meant to do the right thing. I had been raised like that; hell it weren't easy not to behave yourself with Aunt Emmeline drilling it into your head.

But I wasn't. I was a lying, thieving cheat. Killing innocents is one of the worst things to do to yourself; and if I could have changed it I would have. Just have me and some faceless 9 boy in the Games, I die at the bloodbath on Day 1, everybody's happy and I don't have to live with it.

23 die, 1 lives in fame.

23 sleep forever and 1 never sleeps again.

That's the Hunger Games for you.

He didn't have time, I left him no choice. Berenice was the first to wake and she stared at him like he was the most horrible thing she had ever seen. When Sparkle announced that the food was gone, she had had enough.

"Traitor! Thief! Liar!" Varnish squawked and Berenice turned it into a chant. All four circled the boy from 4 like hounds on a scent. And then in one fluid dive, they were on him.

"No," I whispered," Don't hate him, Berenice, hate me. I'm the traitor, I betrayed Georg. I'm the thief; your food is in my pack. And I'm a liar, because I painted his target. Besides, it ain't hard to hate me. You and y'all allies have been hating me for weeks. "

They were vicious. The others rose over him, breathless and bloody, but Berenice was filled with a venomous energy. She was still hackin' at him long after the cannon had gone off.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the vanishing hovercraft. "I didn't want to hurt you. But I need to go home."

I thought that that terrible morning was over, but it wasn't. I wish it had.

Hungry, stung and frustrated, Berenice rounded on Euler.

"You!" she shouted in his face. "You're a traitor too! You were lying right next to him, and I know you were looking at him earlier. You were in this together!"

Nothing could stop her once she got started. She started to push him angrily, and he shouted back. But then she got a knife out- a huge one, twice the size of Varnish's. They began to fight, viciously, like the bear baiting that used to be held in 7 before the Capitol banned it. Berenice was a very good fighter, and I was surprised, learning later on, how long Euler lasted. I wouldn't have been fast enough to duck once. Despite him being a Career and all, he just defended himself from her; he never once tried to hurt her. I guess it was the whole District 2 honour thing. Despite having a reputation for being the worst killers of the bunch, no 2 tribute's gonna turn on their own district partner (unless it's the finale, in which it suddenly becomes morally acceptable.) But Berenice, overwhelmed by the gas, the Games and the excitement-we were down to the final seven now, so it was getting heated in the Capitol, bets would be placed, now would be the time to sponsor, before a tribute became a victor. Berenice- she just got a bit too carried away. And then she did something that horrified Varnish and Sparkle, and ruined the Career pack of the 12th Hunger Games forever.

She killed her own district partner.

No sooner had his cannon fired, but Berenice, overjoyed and keyed up from a kill, turned on Varnish and Sparkle.

"Who wants a piece of me next?" She bellowed, snatching at Varnish's mousy bunches, limp from lack of washing, and she was moments from killing Varnish too, when Sparkle come of a sudden, knocking her weapon out of her hand and spearing her to the earth. Still, she fought, until Varnish finished her off. The final cannon signalled the end of this bloodbath.

From my branch in the tree, I was faint with the horror of it all. In the space of less than an hour, three Careers were dead, and the other two were traumatized. Sparkle was unhinged by what he had seen, and Varnish was sobbing from fear. They were still unspoken allies, but they couldn't look each other in the eye, nor could they stop looking over their shoulder every couple of minutes. They were still holding the pieces of an alliance, but they was as good as dead.

The hovercraft still had not come, after Varnish and Sparkle had moved on. I slipped down and ran for Euler's sword. I had just reached it when the hovercraft came down for him and Berenice, and I had to run to be well away from the spot. I was racing for peace, running to rid the awful things that had joined the catalogue of crimes, the bureaucracy of terror.

I clutched my sword for protection, trying not to think of the fate of its previous owner. Blind with fear, I saw her too late. But she wasn't pointing her arrows at me. She fired past me and Varnish turned tail angrily, though unharmed. She wasn't going to take a risk. Not with two of us, me with Euler's sword, Ribbon with her bow and without her precious Sparkle.

I turned to my rescuer, and I felt that I respected Ribbon more. I went to pieces when my district partner was killed. She was up and running moments after and I felt she deserved credit for that.

She had just one thing to say to me.

"Allies?"


	6. Ambushed

We were silent for a while, after dinner and the dynamite incident.

"We need to destroy the Careers." Ribbon said at last.

I didn't say nothing to that. I'd knew from the beginning, that to win the Hunger Games the two from 1 must die. Ironically, the two Careers I hated the most were the two now left alive.

"How we gonna get them?" We thought 'bout this for another long time. In the arena there's always lots of long times when nobody wanna say nothing.

"Could we maybe set a trap, or snare?"

"They'll be waitin' for 'em."

"We could put food in it. Tempt 'em in?"

"They might spring the trap but make off the food."

"Poison it, then."

"We might be wrong." [About the poison.]

"Wait for 'em to starve?"

"Take too long. And sponsors can send food. Nah, [no] we need to strike while the irons hot, and all."

I had a brainwave.

"We get 'em at night!"

"When they're asleep? But they'll never sleep at the same time; they'll always have one on guard."

"Better one than both awake."

Ribbon puzzled over this, and I swear I could almost hear her brain tickin' over. Then she came up with a plan.

"Best do it when the boy's asleep. She [Varnish] can't fight unless you're real close. You can't throw a swinging knife, see. And he can throw a spear really far."

I knew that. I'd already seen examples of his work.

Less than an hour later, we found 'em. Sitting poe-faced over a miserable fire. After an hour of eatin' and grumbling about sponsors (in the Hunger Games you really learn how to wait) Varnish settled down to sleep, and _then _we had to wait another long long time until Sparkle woke her up so that he could get some sleep. Ribbon had hidden herself under a large bush that had gaps between the leaves that were perfect for arrow shootin'. But I was worried that she would miss. She could handle a bow, but she was no Katniss Everdeen. She didn't have many arrows left, and anyway it might take her two or three goes to hit Varnish, her target. And I didn't want Ribbon to wake Sparkle up, he was a light sleeper as it was and I needed to surprise him so I could at least stand a chance of getting him. My sword was pretty darn big but he could throw a spear too far.

Then I freaked out. What if Ribbon deliberately only hit Varnish so that she would scream and wake Sparkle up? Then I'd have to face two Careers on my own, and I'd definitely kick the bucket. But then, I had all her supplies. And if I die, then the field's level: two tributes (Ribbon and Mall) against two Careers. Who gonna win now?

Confident that my ally wouldn't double cross me and mean it, I kept still behind my tree. A rushing sound told me that Ribbon had fired. I turned my head, not daring to move in case she'd missed.

Varnish was on her back, wheezing. She tried to scream but was in too much pain- Ribbon must have punctured a lung or something. That girl was smart; maybe she'd only tried to help me.

I had to run for it. The cannon would fire any minute, and that sure would make anybody wake up. Hell, I slept like a log sometimes if I was real tired, but even then a cannon gonna wake me up.

The cannon fired just as I was inches from their campfire. Sparkle saw me and looked sure surprised, and he reached for his spear but dropping my sword I threw myself at him and knocked him backwards. I grabbed his spear and stood on top of him, on foot on his dia- dia. *find dictionary.*

That's it. One foot on his d-i-a-p-h-r-a-g-m; and one on his throat. I pointed the spear directly at his mouth, and I knew what I wanted to say. The entire Games I had thought of me doing just this, flooring Sparkle and getting my own back. I was going to say; "Got any last words for your District partner, punk?"

But when it came to it, I didn't say that at all. I just thought about what I was doin'. All this Hunger Games, it was all revenge. Me taking out revenge on Sparkle for what he did to Georg, the Capitol taking out revenge on the Districts, like it hadn't punished us enough already. But what good did that revenge do? Why do this to the Districts, 'cause despite it being all "entertaining", at the end of it it's kids being forced to kill other kids. Surely it's just mindless killing. Don't the Capitol just treat these kids like animals from 10? Worse actually, 'cause at least animals don't have no feelings. And you kill animals to eat 'em, but there's no point to killing folks in the Hunger Games, except to stay alive. And you only stay alive by being horrible. Less good folks and more bad folks.

So I didn't take revenge.

"Look at us," I said, lookin' deep into Sparkle's eyes. "Look at what they've done to us."

And then I killed him.


	7. Just Maybe

I says it like it was so neat and easy, killing Sparkle. It wasn't. I hoped it would be quick and final, like when he killed Georg. Turned out I couldn't handle a spear too well. I had to stab several times to even get near his spine, and I kinda mashed up his face in the process. I hoped that they wouldn't mind too much.

Eventually, after minutes of frustration, the cannon fired and it was over. The last of the Careers was dead, and only Ribbon, Mall and I remained.

I thought Ribbon would take pot shots at me now that I was standing over a dead body, with my weapon out of reach and one I couldn't even handle in my hand, but after I picked up my sword I discovered that the bush she was hiding in was empty. Must have run for it after she'd killed Varnish, which was fine by me 'cause now she only had her bow and arrows, but I had food and my choice of the Careers weapons. I had thought she'd want to "divide the spoils" with me but maybe she just didn't trust my sword.

I took the spear out of Sparkle's mouth and lay him out holding it. I didn't want any more people to be killed by that awful thing. I would have taken their coats; as now it would get cold with the Gamemakers making it tougher, but Varnish's wouldn't have fitted and Sparkle's was still wet with blood and all. And mutts can smell blood from miles off. I left Varnish's knives with her too, so that the hovercraft could take them when they came to pick up the bodies.

That night, I wrapped up in blankets and watched the anthem from up in a tree. I saw Varnish, then Sparkle, and then they vanished forever. I thought of Mall, and I thought about Ribbon too. My friend of fellow feeling, and my ally of convenience. The remaining other two tributes; and I would have to kill at least one of them.

Mall- she heard the cannons as well as anyone. Must have had a pleasant surprise when she saw it was the Careers gone. We all have pretty similar chances now. But only one can win.

The next day, I woke up to the memory of Varnish dying, deflatin' like an old tyre, Ribbon's arrow sticking out of her side. Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out of over the trees.

"Congratulations, tributes! However this year's Games will end, you have broken records! The victor will be the first victor for Districts 3, 8 or 9. Not only that, but the victor will not have gained a training score higher than six or have been assigned odds more likely than 15:1 this will be a Hunger Games to remember!"

And now I realise, that maybe, just maybe, it could be me.

**LEAH WISHART PRESENTS HER FINALE**

**IN THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THE TRILOGY**

**TRAITOR.**


End file.
